


Night of the Living Ben

by Nutriyum_Addict



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Ridiculous, Secrets, Shameless Smut, Undead, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutriyum_Addict/pseuds/Nutriyum_Addict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt is a special kind of zombie. An occasional AU fic in small chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started as a joke kind of, based on how everyone (ME TOO!) sort of has the headcanon that Ben 1. really loves doing the oral sex and 2. he is excellent at it. 
> 
> But then I started giving this AU more and more thought and now it's kind of turning into something? But also, it is a hot mess of ridiculousness.

Being a zombie is nothing like _28 Days Later_.

Or, even later as Ben watches and laughs at his TV after making his home in Pawnee, _The Walking Dead_. There’s a lot less blood and gore and a lot more moaning and gasping…instead, it’s kind of like being in a porno or something, but while also being dead. Um, undead as it were.

Right. Because whatever kind of zombie he’s become, he doesn’t need to eat brains. Nope. Ben Wyatt needs to eat pussy.

And the thing is, as long as he…feeds, he’s completely normal. Well, he looks and acts like a functioning human being, but of course if someone listened for a heartbeat or tried to take his blood pressure, they would be pretty shocked to discover that he is quite literally dead.

Dead as a vagina-loving doornail.

The best Ben can figure out, it happened while he was on the road auditing a few years back, but he’s not completely clear on that either. It’s not like he had a one night stand and then woke up the next day with an insatiable desire to go muff-diving. No, it was more like a slow transition over a couple of months.

Food started being less and less appealing to him, where as the idea of feasting between a creamy pair of thighs made him dizzy with need. He was getting tired all the time and cranky and irritable. Citizens would throw things at him and call him names and he would want to attack them just to hear them scream.

One day Chris was going on and on about his new fitness app and how it measured heart rate (apparently, Chris’s resting heart rate was that of a tortoise or something) and later, when Ben was playing around with it, he discovered his own heart rate was nineteen beats per minute–even less than his fitness-obsessed friend.

The next day Ben’s heart rate was zero.

The day after that, almost as if on auto-pilot, he went to a bar, picked up an Art History professor with shiny black hair and green eyes and ate her out like his life depended on it. Afterwards, he felt…amazing. Renewed! Alive! Like he could do anything at all.

But still, he had no heartbeat, so that seemed weird.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that if he wasn’t intimate with a partner at least every five days, he would start to lose focus, get headaches, and become incredibly ill-tempered…and soon after that, he would become crazed with hunger, almost homicidal with need.

And also, his flesh started rotting and he smelled bad. That was probably the biggest clue.

Thankfully, it only got as far as his left foot and later, after he’d paid a prostitute in Indianapolis for her services (although really, she was the one who got _serviced_ , so to speak), Ben was incredibly relieved to find that his skin reverted back to normal, the smell went away, and his thoughts of murder disappeared completely.

He never went longer than five days without eating again.


	2. May 2008

“What?” Henry asks, looking at Ben with wide eyes and an open mouth like he just said something completely crazy.

Oh wait. He kind of did. So he repeats it. “Um, I think I’m a zombie. Well, I’m pretty positive I’m a zombie, but not–”

“Well, then why aren’t you eating me? And being all _argghhhgghghgh_ ,” his brother asks a bit drunkenly, hands all out in front of him–even as he holds onto his beer bottle and his face is all distorted in a zombie-like impression, before he laughs and then takes a sip of his beer.

“You don’t have anything I want to eat.”

“Fuck you, dude.”

Ben makes a face but then laughs, before he finishes his own beer.

Yeah, he can drink but he doesn’t seem to get drunk now. He can also eat people food (funny, it’s only been a year and he already thinks of chicken and bread and cheese as people food), but it really doesn’t taste like anything, so he usually doesn’t bother.

“Oh, wait, I see the confusion. But no, I’m not talking about a brain,” Ben clarifies with a smirk. And then ducks when Henry reaches for a pen on the coffee table and throws it at him.

“Alright, what do you eat then?”

“Um, well, that’s kind of…complicated,” Ben responds.

He’s not sure how to even get into all the details, but he needs to tell someone. This weekend trip to Minneapolis to visit his brother seems like as good a time as any. And since Henry’s girlfriend works in medical research, Ben figures this discussion with his brother will hopefully lead to him maybe finding out some answers.

Because he has a lot of questions.

Like, is he accidentally infecting people? He always uses a condom during sex but, he is also eating unprotected…without a bib, so to speak.

Ben doesn’t think he’s _zombifying_ anyone, because he’s made a point of checking back in with previous partners over the last year and nope, no one has admitted to suddenly being really into lady parts or starting to rot if they don’t spend some time each week going down, which actually was a tremendous, tremendous relief.

If he was killing people (even the undead kind of killing), Ben thinks he probably wouldn’t be able to do this. And that’s the problem with being a self-aware zombie, he thinks, while Henry seems to be mulling over Ben’s unexpected confession.

“Right. Okay,” his brother says finally, sitting up straighter on the sofa. “I get it. This is payback for that bit about telling you that you were allergic to shellfish when we were kids, right? Because really, I didn’t think you would believe me, much less not eat shrimp for over twenty-five years.”

“No. Although I am still a little annoyed by that. No, this is for real,” Ben says as he reaches down and picks the pen up off the floor.

He takes a deep breath, lifts his shirt up, and stabs himself in the stomach with the pen. Like hard enough to break the skin and go in about three inches.

Because he’s also super strong now.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Henry screams, jumping up and running over.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It kinda hurts but…just hold on,” Ben says, gritting his teeth.

He slowly pulls the pen advertising Hotel Andra in Seattle out (when did Henry go to Seattle? he wonders) and then keeps his plaid shirt lifted up while the wound on his stomach slowly starts closing up. Also, it hardly bled, so he’s pretty sure that’ll get his brother’s attention too.

“What? I m-m-mean. What? H-h-how?” Henry stammers, staring at Ben, then down at his now-healed stomach, then back at Ben. “What the hell just happened?”

“I stabbed myself with a pen and now I’m fine,” Ben says with relief.

He’d only cut himself on accident before (and then watched in disbelief as the deep gash on his thumb closed up before his eyes), so he’s really glad he was right about this and that it was scalable.

“But…how?”

“I’m dead,” Ben says, nodding. “So, I can’t like, die again I think? I’m not actually sure how it works. I didn’t get a manual or a welcome pack or anything.”

It would have been so much easier if he had.

Henry stares at him for a few seconds. “You’re really dead?”

“Yes,” Ben says. “For about a year now.”

Saying (and thinking) it doesn’t even freak him out that much anymore. Good lord, has he actually gotten used to this?

Henry frowns and moves even closer. “Alright. Seriously, don’t eat me,” he whispers and then puts his head against Ben’s chest.

Ben stays still while his older brother listens for a heartbeat. After about a minute, Henry looks up, tears in his eyes and gives Ben a hug.

* * * * * * *

They spend the rest of the night talking about everything, Ben admitting what he actually eats and what happens if he doesn’t eat it, and then Henry looking at him like he’s crazy again. But finally his brother seems like he believes him.

Around one in the morning, Ben offers to go to a motel, but Henry insists he stay at the house as planned. Although, when they go to bed, Ben hears Henry lock his bedroom door. But of course, that’s fine. It’s understandable. It is fine.

It’s fine.

Ben is a zombie. His brother should absolutely be a little tentative about having a zombie as a house guest.

The next day when Ben goes downstairs, Henry and Meghan are talking quietly in the kitchen. His brother is wearing a bike helmet and Meghan is wearing some sort of handmade metal cage-like contraption around her lower body.

There’s also baseball bat on the kitchen counter.

“I promise, I’m not going to eat anyone in this house,” Ben says, hands up in submission as enters the room.

“Just some minor precautions, bro,” Henry says apologetically. “You remember my girlfriend, Meghan?”

Everyone says hello and pretends it’s just a normal Sunday morning while they make small talk about the Minnesota weather for a few minutes.

His brother’s girlfriend finally just dives right in. “Alright, so when Henry says you have to, um, eat out…he means euphemistically, right? You’re not actually…”

“Oh, no. No. No. No. It’s all just normal and completely consensual…um, cunnilingus that is happening. Yep. That’s it. It’s all…a-okay coolio,” Ben supplies awkwardly. “Everyone is alive afterwards. Promise.”

“Well, except you,” Henry adds.

“Right. Except me.”

She nods, her very attractive but serious face studying him. “Okay. I don’t need you to stab yourself like you did for your brother last night, just look me in the eyes and tell me this is for real, please.”

Ben doesn’t know Meghan all that well, but he likes her. He likes her even more since she seems to be taking this seriously.

Even if she is wearing a modified birdcage around her hips.

“This is for real.”

She nods and reaches for a silver medical supply case. “Obviously, I usually deal with different sorts of viruses, but I can take a look and see if I can find any answers for you. I’ll need to collect some samples from you–blood, saliva, semen, stuff like that.”

Ben nods. “Alright. And thank you.”


	3. February 2011: Part 1

It’s when Leslie is driving the two of them back to the office, after taping the segment for tomorrow’s _Pawnee Today_ with Joan Calamezzo, that Ben sort of, kind of starts to relax.

A little bit.

Oh, he’s still very hungry and still a bit angry and wound up about the day’s events (forget the _spank chair_ , he kind of wants to put Crazy Ira and the Douche in the _tear-from-limb-to-limb_ chair), but Ben is pretty sure that it’s just a delightful fantasy at this point and that he’s got it all under control.

He’s been subtly doing his deep breathing exercises during the drive and he keeps telling himself that as soon as they get back to City Hall, he’ll get in his car and drive directly to the Snakehole Lounge and find some quick dinner in his new fancy suit and the crisis will be averted. Even though he’s been super busy lately and it’s been three days since he’s eaten and he’s cutting it kind of close and honestly, what the hell even happened on _Ya Heard, with Perd?_ , Ben is feeling much better.

Realistically, he has no idea if his Perd meltdown was a result from being an overly hungry zombie or an embarrassed ex-teen mayor…maybe a bit of both?

“So, I was thinking,” Leslie says, as she flashes him a big smile and turns the car into the almost deserted parking lot, “why don’t we order a pizza for dinner and maybe you could help me go over the budget points for my presentation to the City Council tomorrow?”

“Oh, uhhh, well…” Ben trails off, as Leslie continues to grin at him, even after she parks the car and turns off the engine. And for someone who drove him crazy just a few weeks ago, Ben is now finding himself inexplicably attracted to this blonde pain in the ass.

Uh-oh.

“Come on, we can get you a ridiculous calzone and we’ll spread everything out in the conference room and work. Just for a little bit. It’ll really help me out. Please? Please? Ben, come on, it’ll be fun. Bennnn…”

“Alright,” he answers, smiling back, and…what the fuck?

 _No!_ his brain is telling him, screaming at him, _this is absolutely not a good idea._

_It is not alright. You’re hungry and she’s soft and warm and you think you can even smell her, but it’s probably just the hanging air freshener in her car, and dude, don’t be an undead idiot._

_Do not mix food and work._

Shut up, every other part of him tells his stupid brain. It’ll be an hour, maybe two, and then I’ll get dinner. It’s fine.

It’s not fine.

* * * * *

“Ben?”

“Huh?” He stops staring at his hands and looks up at Leslie. At soft, pretty, passionate Leslie who has one of the nicest smiles he’s ever seen and is so amazing at her job that it kind of takes his breath away.

Well, that and how she’s now wearing a skirt (she had to change after spilling some soda on her pants earlier but thankfully, she had black knit skirt in her desk drawer), and how it would be so easy to slide his hands up her legs, get his palms on the inside of her thighs, and spread her legs apart.

“Wow, does someone need a nap after dinner? But you hardly even ate any–”

“No. Sorry. It’s…everything is good. Just spacing out for a second.”

The skin on her hips and thighs and ass would probably be super soft and she’d smell sweet and musky and probably taste amazing, he thinks. Like the best dessert in the world. God, he misses dessert. Tasting dessert. Eating dessert. Swirling his tongue though whipped cream and homemade pies and vanilla-scented custard and honey-drizzled…

“That’s okay. I was just asking about the revenue projection and the funnel cake budget.”

“I should go,” Ben interrupts, standing up quickly.

Good lord, did he almost just drool?

And also, she wants a special funnel cake budget? That's…not happening.

“Sorry, I should…I need to…um, this is not good. I mean, um, this was fine. Good. Pizza. Yum. Working. But now, I should… ” he trails off as Leslie stands up, moves closer, and quickly kisses him.

She kind of just grabs his head in her hands and kisses him right on his face. With her lips and she’s smiling warmly but then also opening her mouth and fuck if he can’t taste pizza and soda and everything else he can’t usually sense anymore or enjoy but here it all is…along with her tongue.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Leslie.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” she pulls back, but only a couple of inches. “That was inappropriate. You just…you were so stressed out today and you looked so cute and worried and I just wanted to kiss you.”

Ben groans.

“Plus, you did such a great job on Joan’s show. I was so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he manages to get out and Ben’s not even trying to be subtle anymore. He’s doing his deep breaths and it’s not helping because he still really wants to rip her underwear off and bury his face in the crotch of her panties. And then inhale her wet, warm cunt.

Eat her wet, warm cunt until she’s gasping and moaning and pushing herself against his mouth.

“Leslie. I need to go. Right now.”

“Why?” She whispers it, all while her face is moving closer to his again.

“Because if I don’t, I’m going to kiss you, but then I’m also going to put you down on this table, pull your skirt up, and put my mouth…on you. I just…I can’t help it.”

Her eyes widen but then she kind of groans and then she kisses him again.

Well, shit, Ben thinks.

And his brain agrees.


	4. February 2011: part 2

Ben is still pretty positive that eating Leslie out is a colossally bad idea professionally, even as he slides his hands up the outside of her thighs, pulling the black skirt up as he goes.

His mouth and his dick and every other single part of him are one hundred percent on board with the current plan, though. And now that his next meal is pretty much assured, he has the willpower to slow this down just a teeny-tiny bit...in that he doesn't just rip her panties off and go to town instantly. No, Ben continues to kiss her even as he pulls the black knit material up around her waist and backs her up to the edge of the table.

He only wishes he was this smooth before he was a zombie.

She gasps when Ben's hands rub against her hips, griping skin before her panties get yanked down and when he lifts her up and deposits her on the table, she kind of squawks in surprise.

"Okay?" He manages to ask before his hands and mouth are on her and honestly he has no idea how he would even stop this if she were to say no. Thankfully she nods but then also pulls her skirt down a little so that she's sitting on the material instead of being bare-assed on the conference table.

She mumbles something about _Jerry eating lunch in here_ that makes them both laugh and make faces. But Ben doesn't really spend that long chuckling...not when her scent is already filling the room.

Of course Leslie Knope's pussy smells like rainbows and sunshine and sweet sugar-coated dessert.

He's pretty sure he growls and fuck that's probably not good but then his mouth latches onto her and he's not even sure if he's sitting down in a chair (he thinks so, otherwise he's added levitation to his list of weird undead skills), and if it's even possible, she tastes even better than she smells.

The more he licks and devours, the wetter she gets. Ben flicks his tongue against her clit as she pushes herself readily against his chin, his lips, his tongue. He adds his fingers to the mix, sliding one, then two inside her, opening her up to him, all the while filling up on the syrup-like wetness that falls against his tongue.

Truthfully, he always loved doing this, but since becoming a zombie, this feeling of being completely surrounded in scent and taste is _everything_. It's completely intoxicating. And right now, he wants to put his lips everywhere, make her come against his tongue, taste her juices as they saturate his mouth and she grips at his hair.

Soon, he hears her shudders and gasps, feels her grinding against him, hot and wet against his mouth crazily, as she crashes into him with a string of guttural moans.

And then just like that...he's full. Of course, he's still happy to place little kisses on her exposed areas or to lick and nuzzle warm, damp skin, but he's satiated. It's always like this, crazed lapping and moaning and then, after his meal comes, he's done. It's almost like he swallows the orgasm too.

In fact, now that he's eaten, the detail of his fairly obvious erection isn't even that pressing.

Sure, sex is good after feeding but sometimes he just skips it. This is probably one of those times he should do that, Ben thinks pragmatically. He just went down on the Deputy Director of the Parks Department in a conference room while he's here auditing for the state, he should probably practice a little willpower and not actually plow her too.

"Oh my god! That was amazing!"

Ben looks up, not quite being able to hide the amused smirk on his face. "Oh yeah?"

She nods and giggles--a slow, low, goofy and adorable cackle that makes him want to reconsider his earlier stance, especially since her skirt is still pulled up and and he can still see her and taste her in his mouth.

"Yeah," Leslie confirms, grinning. "Aren't we going to...I mean...we can...if you want...Ben, do you have a condom?"

He shakes his head quickly. He does, but they're out in his car, squirreled away in his glove compartment. "Sorry. Not on me. That's okay, I--"

"I might have one in my bag, back in my office," Leslie offers, already hopping down from the table, but he grabs her arm lightly before she can get more than a step or two away.

"Hey, we don't have to…I mean, this was really fast. We can um, slow down a little."

"Or, I could give you a blow job," she suggests. "You know, for equality."

Ben blinks, somehow taken off-guard by her suggestion.

The tests Meghan ran initially showed absolutely no evidence that he's infected with anything that he can spread through sex or any of his bodily fluids. So, it's probably fine. And it's not like he hasn't been on the receiving end of oral sex a few times since becoming undead.

Of course Leslie isn't some random stranger he picked up in a bar.

He still has to work with her for a few more weeks and he does like her--he actually likes her a lot, Ben realizes, remembering how just this afternoon she had supported him and made him feel better, even while discussing bankruptcies and his teen mayor past on Joan's show.

But also, is it really okay to let her unknowingly suck-off a zombie?

Maybe he should ask his (now) sister-in-law to do some retesting first just to make extra triple sure.

He sighs. Not for the first time, Ben kind of wishes Chris knew about his situation, because his work partner would be a great ethical sounding board for these sorts of dilemmas.

"Ben?"

"Um. Sorry. I uh..." Crap. This is getting awkward now, Ben realizes. Maybe he should try and take some pointers from Tom's ridiculous _Haverford Schmooze_ system--smile, friendly physical contact, and flattery.

Ben grins and then reaches out to pat her shoulder, while he says, "I like your shoes."

Leslie must pick up on his hesitation, because she doesn't get down on her knees after she unzips his pants, she just slides her hand inside the slit in his boxers and _ohhhhhhh_.

"I could do this," Leslie tells him, the steady gaze from her blue eyes almost making Ben swoon.

"You could."

It takes him a second but then he lets himself fully give in to the sensations of Leslie's hand on him and the additional contact he doesn't always allow himself to enjoy.

"Yeah?" She asks, and he doesn't even have to look at her this time to hear the sexy grin in her voice. 

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

Ben's head falls forward a bit and he rests his chin against the crook of her neck. She's working his boxers down with her other hand and god, this is so inappropriate. They're in a conference room in City Hall and he's getting a hand job from a woman whose budgetary fate he holds in his hands like a small bird. All while one of Leslie's hands is cupping his balls as the other slides around his dick, and good lord, of course Leslie's attention to detail is fantastic.

Honestly at this point, he doesn't even need Chris to tell him that this is all probably extremely unethical.

In the same moment, Ben also wonders what it would be like to kiss her again and maybe run his fingers through her hair. Touch her breasts or kiss her neck. Perhaps she's ticklish and would squeal and giggle if he found just the right spot.

But then it all starts to get overwhelming in a really amazing way--her hands, her smell, the way she feels practically pressed against him, the way Leslie makes him feel whether she's looking at him reassuringly while he explains that those towns were already bankrupt when he arrived or she's giving him a really great hand job and Ben comes, clutching against her and surrounded by her fully.

It would almost be sweet if he didn't make such a mess on his new shirt.

When the last of the shudders have stopped, he doesn't make much effort to move away at first and neither does Leslie.

They only break apart when they hear a sudden noise just outside the conference room. Tinny-sounding pop music that Ben can just barely make out. Miraculously, they both have enough time to get their clothing situated (although he does notice that instead of putting her panties back on, Leslie just balls the red, satiny material up in her right hand) and Ben does his best to cover the stain on his shirt with his new suit jacket before they're disrupted.

It's the day janitor, uncharacteristically working at night and when he enters the conference room, Ben and Leslie both appear to look slightly innocent (at least Ben hopes they do). Without paying them any mind, City Hall's music-loving custodian empties the garbage cans and quickly turns to leave, pretty much ignoring their presence.

If it were an even more perfectly ridiculous moment, the song blaring from the headphones would probably be The Cranberries' _Zombie_ , but instead, Shania Twain (at least Ben thinks it's Shania Twain) assures them all that:

_The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun._

_Oh, oh, oh, go totally crazy, forget I'm a lady...  
_


	5. February 2011: Let's stay in and devour each other this Valentine's Day

All things considered, Ben thinks, it's not really _that_ awkward the next day.

That's weird, right? He can't help but feel it should feel more than just a little strange, the next time you see the woman you unexpectedly ravished on a conference room table the night before. Especially, when they'd both seemed to have been more than a little surprised by the unplanned intimacy of the situation.

Especially if one person (him) happens to be a secret zombie.

Last night, after the interruption by the custodian that had definitely broken the mood, Leslie had shook his hand in a rush, gathered up her things, and told him, "good brainstorming session, Mr. Tongue, ah, Wyatt. Good job. Cheerio," in a British accent and left the conference room quickly, leaving Ben standing there in his come-stained shirt.

Walking to his office from the parking lot the next day, he'd hoped to see her. Ben had even specifically gone by the Parks Department, stuck his head in the door, but nope...no Leslie. So, the first time he actually does see her is at a ten o'clock meeting with Chris, Ron, Tom, Donna, April, and Jerry in the Parks Department conference room.

Right. That conference room.

When he and Chris enter, leather folios in hand, Ben's eyes widen a little when he realizes one of the only two open spots around the table is right where he ate her out about twelve hours ago. He takes that seat quickly and Chris ends up across the from him, next to Donna.

Ben can still smell her (fun undead trick--he has super-smell when it comes to _some_ things) and after a few minutes of being surrounded by her scent, let's just say that he's glad he's sitting down with his lap hidden from view.

A few minutes into the meeting he's still feeling a bit unsure about everything, but then Leslie passes some documents out to everyone. When Ben looks down at his, he has a little something extra. His hand-out says y _ou have a cute butt,_ on the back of Page One in Leslie's now-recognizable, swirly cursive. Ben looks up and she's smiling at him.

He smiles back.

* * * * * *

They decide to go to her place after work and talk.

"Alright, I just, um, I'm going to sit over here."

Leslie makes a face from her place on the couch as he takes the spot in the chair.

"Why?"

"Because I need to say a few things and I don't think we should sit next to each other while I say them."

Even without Chris's moral compass to guide him, Ben has decided that if he and Leslie do that again (and he definitely wants to do that again), she should know what's really going on--what he is. She's not just some random bar hook-up. She's a co-worker and a friend and maybe more. Maybe next week they could even go out to dinner for Valentine's Day or something, and also, she has really nice blonde hair. 

He looks around her living room, taking in the cluttered book shelves. Ben smiles in appreciation of all of the political biographies strewn about, even as he hopes that she doesn't start throwing the books at him when he tells her the truth.

"Oh my god, you're married."

His attention quickly snaps back to Leslie from the whole shelf of books on the Roosevelts that he was admiring. "What? No. I'm not--"

"You're _engaged_ to be married. You have a girlfriend," Leslie says, making an angry face at him. "How dare you! You just saunter into town with your great hair and coy sex appeal and your--"

"No. That's not--" But she doesn't even give him time to explain before she guesses again. And also, she thinks he's got coy sex appeal?

"You're on the run from the law and, oh my god, you killed a sheriff in Omaha and--"

"Leslie," he interrupts, taking in her concerned face and _fuck_ , she's probably going to wish that he's on the run from the law in a few minutes. Ben takes a deep breath. "No. Nothing like that. But, there is something wrong with me."

"What do you mean?" She still looks concerned, but it's softer now, and it's all focused on him. He watches as she moves closer, at the end of the sofa now, so that their knees are practically touching. "What is it?"

Ben takes a deep breath. "I'm not sure exactly what it is but...Okay, so here's the thing. I...um...do you have any beer?"

"Beer?"

"Yeah. I could use a beer. No, never mind, that's okay, I can't really taste it anyway. Or get that drunk. Because I'm dead. I am dead. I'm dead. There. That's what it is," he nods and stares at her. "Not alive."

"You're dead," Leslie repeats and it's pretty obvious that she doesn't quite believe him.

Ben nods some more and watches as her face goes from confused to definitely...something else. She sort of deflates and looks...sad? Disappointed? Hurt?

What?

"Okay, if you don't want to do that again, you can just tell me. Or, hire a skywriter. You don't have to come up with a weird story and--"

"No. No. That is not it. And I do want to do that again. That's why I'm telling you the truth. And wait...why would I hire a skywriter if I didn't want to...has someone actually done that before?"

She sighs. "Maybe. Whatever. It doesn't matter. But, you don't have to lie about--"

"I'm not," Ben holds his hand out. "Here. Check for a pulse."

She still looks confused but she takes his hand anyway, and god, her skin is so soft and warm as she turns his hand over in hers and Leslie's fingers slide around his wrist.

"Ann taught me how to do this once and..." Leslie trails off, frowning. She moves her fingers to another spot and frowns again. "Okay, where's your pulse, Ben?"

Ben smiles sadly. "I don't have one. Or a heartbeat."

"Are you a ghost?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. "No. You can't be a ghost because everyone else can see you and you can't walk through walls," she reasons, making a cute but very serious face. The sort of face that makes Ben want to lean forward and kiss her and rub his nose against hers.

But instead, he says, "it's more like being undead, technically, I guess. I'm still kind of figuring things out."

"Oh, like a vampire?"

Ben shakes his head. "No. I don't suck blood. I've kind of, um, been thinking of it like a zombie. The living dead." He decides to skip the part about his flesh rotting if he goes too long without eating because…well, that part is pretty gross. That detail is definitely not fun, beginning-of-the-relationship type stuff.

"So you're telling me that you're a zombie accountant with a cute butt who audits for the state and drives a Saturn?"

"Yes."

She stares at him for a few seconds and then starts giggling. Cackling, really.

Soon Ben is laughing as well. And it's probably the hardest he's laughed since that one time in the beginning when he was visiting his brother, back when they were still waiting for some initial results from Meghan's tests. His brother's girlfriend had jokingly pretended to mix up his and Henry's glasses...back when they hadn't known for sure that he wasn't able to infect anyone.

Henry had not at all been amused but he and Meghan had laughed hysterically over it.

But right now, sitting in Leslie's disastrous living room, it does sound pretty funny--he's a zombie with a job and a car and a life, even if Henry, Meghan, and now Leslie Knope are the only ones who know what he really is.

Actually, it feels kind of good to tell someone else. The last almost-three years have been confusing and a bit difficult, to be honest, trying to adjust to his new lifestyle, all while keeping his zombie activities a secret from Chris and all the people in the departments that he's been auditing.

And in all this time, Leslie is the only time he's ever _eaten on the job_ , so to speak.

"Okay, but if you're a zombie, why aren't you trying to eat me?" She finally asks, her eyes narrowing at him suspiciously, even as she doesn't make any effort to move her knees away from his.

He blinks a few times, trying to decide how to tell her that, in fact, he has already has eaten her.

"Ben?"

"Yeah. Right. Sorry. Alright. Um, I sort of did." When he glances at Leslie she looks a bit confused. "Last night. On the table."

She raises her eyebrow. "You mean when you…"

"Yes. That's how I um, eat?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No. No. Telling you. That's it. That's how it works. Not brains but… _that_. Oh, and don't worry. I didn't turn you into a zombie or anything. Promise. It doesn't seem to work like that. You're fine," he pauses. "You are fine, right?"

Leslie nods at his question but then shuts her eyes very tightly, presses her arms to her sides and makes a face like she's straining to...do something.

"What's happening? Are you okay?"

"I was checking to see if I could fly away. Nope, not dreaming this. This is really happening," she says, blinking slowly at him.


End file.
